When the Soul Weeps
by Gemini Explorer
Summary: Roxton seems depressed, and Marguerite agonizes over the cause. Can their friends help?


This is Rated M for some minor language issues, and because it has themes that may not be suitable for younger readers. In general, the content is about what would get a PG-14 Rating on TV, as some episodes of "The Lost World;" indeed had.

Raw, wounded emotions and the soothing of them is the theme of this short Fic. Be guided accordingly, and perhaps you ladies might want to keep some tissue handy. If this doesn't make some readers cry, it isn't as good a story of its kind as I hope it'll be. It will offer insight into the souls of the Treehouse crew, as I see them.

The setting is beyond the Third Season, and could be at any time once the relationships have formed, after Challenger and Finn have committed (in my fics), and Ned has returned and become betrothed to Veronica during their adventure in the dreaded Tecamaya treasure city of Xochilenque. (From, "The Crystal Skull" no longer on the Net.) Finn also now knows that Malone is her ancestor. Finally, the term employed by Roxton to describe his cowardly gun bearer is typical of the period, and is not intended to reflect on any modern ethnic group.

When the Soul Weeps

by

Explorer

John Roxton looked at himself as he shaved, and decided that he didn't much like the man in the mirror. He was in a surly state by the time that he had finished, cleaned his razor and washed his face.

In a foul mood, he splashed on some of the male cologne that Challenger had succeeded in making from alcohol and jungle fragrances. It smelled of leather and other masculine scents, and his fiancée and the other Treehouse women had told him how much they liked it. Normally, he found it bracing and rather pleasant. Today, he didn't reflect on it. He just dressed and went down to breakfast, saying little to Marguerite, who was trying to draw him out.

He was no more responsive at breakfast, replying in brief mumblings to anything that he was asked. He initiated no new topics of conversation, and Ned Malone and his virtual spouse, Veronica Layton, looked at one another curiously. Veronica stared down the table to where Prof. George Challenger and Nicole "Finn" Finnegan sat, holding hands. Challenger pretended not to notice Ned's inquiring glance, and Finn shrugged at Veronica's unspoken question.

She rose to get Challenger more coffee, a task that she performed religiously, in spite of sometimes being teased for the care that she took of her man. She caught Veronica's eye as she passed back with the coffee pot, though, glanced at Roxton and his bedmate, and rolled her eyes expressively.

Veronica almost laughed, but she was troubled. Normally, Roxton was a cheerful man, especially since he and Marguerite had settled their differences some months before. In a stormy few days, they had nearly broken up, until he had spanked her for her behavior after she had thrown several tantrums that week and disrespected her housemates. It developed that she had been angry with herself for wanting Roxton as a woman would, instead of continuing to toy with him as she once had. She hated admitting that she was willing to give up much of her mystery and independence for the love of a man. And she was angry with him for not setting his foot down, and putting her in her place, making it clear to her and the others that she was now his, and had better act like it. (From, "Challenger's Birthday", on a board now closed.)

That episode had cleared the air between them, with each openly admitting to themselves and to the world that they were deeply in love and didn't care who knew. In fact, it was soon after that that the couple had announced their engagement.

Since, they had been openly affectionate, if more reserved in public than were either of the other Treehouse couples. Finn, who had lived most of her life in a future century, was less inhibited in some ways than were most people in the early 1920's. She had raised some eyebrows slightly when she was first seen sitting on Challenger's lap. But this was now accepted, and Veronica often did that with Ned, too. Marguerite was less casual about that sort of thing, although she had been seen to do it on evenings when they had had a party, and the women had danced for their men. Then, Marguerite would sometimes sit draped on Roxton as he sipped a brandy or rum punch. But overall, they were now more open with one another, sometimes walking to the dinner table hand-in-hand. There had been almost no storm clouds on their horizon for at least six months, perhaps longer. Marguerite was still wittily sarcastic, but usually in a funny way. She had even all but given up on verbally torturing poor Malone, once one of her hobbies.

Finn filled Challenger's cup, her free hand brushing his affectionately. She looked over at the future Roxtons and asked if they wanted refills as long as she was up and had coffee there. Marguerite extended her cup, saying that whoever had said that Scotch whiskey was the "aqua vitae" had clearly not encountered coffee.

"I drink coffee; therefore I am," she quipped. The others politely chuckled, Challenger finding her humor quite amusing. They had become close friends after Marguerite had shed her psychological armor, and they often sat talking when neither had more pressing matters to address.

But Roxton barely glanced at Finn, shaking his head when she offered the pot. He seemed preoccupied. She withdrew to the kitchen, conversation being slow and carefully phrased. Everyone knew that something was wrong between John and Marguerite, and they weren't eager to learn what. They just hoped fervently that it would be highly temporary, and that better spirits would soon return.

Following breakfast, Roxton worked for an hour with Malone in cleaning the air conditioner and installing Challenger's new conduction coils to cool the Treehouse more effectively. But he didn't respond to Ned's attempts to cheer him up, and when Challenger inspected the assembly, Roxton was subdued and didn't rise to his best friend's attempts to coax him to laugh.

Upstairs, he withdrew to a room by himself, staring out at the jungle below.

Marguerite apologized for whatever she had done to upset him, but he said that she had done nothing wrong.

"Now, see here, John," she admonished, "This is a woman's game. How often have I had you come crawling to me, begging forgiveness, asking what you'd done, only to have me sniff and say, 'nothing'?

"Of course, there really is something wrong, but I'm too bitchy to say what, so that you'll suffer more. Women know how to play that game. It's in our genes. Men are usually willing to say what's bothering them, so their women can at least decide if they want to ask forgiveness and move on. Like that'll happen very often! It's much more satisfying to make a man linger in emotional agony." Marguerite hoped that she might at least get Roxton to smile with this true admission about war between the sexes.

And he did smile, if only a little, and rather wanly. "Marguerite," he repeated, "I swear that this has nothing to do with you. Please just leave me in peace for awhile. I'll get over it."

Worried, Marguerite sought out Finn, increasingly her closest female confidant. Especially since the days that they'd spent sharing a slave cell, the women had realized that they had much in common, and they were ever closer. (See, "A Night in the Lost World" on this board for the story of their confinement by Avery Burton.) Each also shared a rather dry humor, overlaid by sarcasm, often to mask their fears and uncertainties and the bitterness of their pasts.

"Look here, Finnykins," she declared," I know that I've done something to upset John, but he won't tell me what. It's like he's playing my own game, making me suffer because I can't figure out what I've done."

Finn gave her a shrewd look. "Listen, Kruxlahoo, maybe this really isn't about you. You tend to think the world revolves around you, and maybe it doesn't."

Marguerite looked wounded. She said in a small voice. "I know, Finn. Sometimes, it revolves around John Roxton, the finest man who ever lived, and the one who's put up with more from me than I had any right to think he would. Now, he's hurting, and I have no idea what to do." She wrung her hands, strain clearly on her face.

Finn thought. "Marguerite, you haven't committed any cardinal sins, have you? I mean, like leaving dirty fingerprints on the steel parts of his guns that might cause them to rust, after he'd carefully oiled them? Used one of his favorite hunting knives to chop frozen food or bone? Chip an edge on one of those, and he'd have a conniption! And I wouldn't blame him. No? Have you dropped that watch that his favorite uncle gave him, the one that he carried in Africa and all through the war? He loves taking that out and looking at it. Does it all the time when we're out hunting, and it's obvious that it's one of his proudest possessions."

Marguerite realized that Finn was at least half serious, and on thinking about it, she admitted that these indiscretions would indeed anger her lord. Finn knew her virtual big brother and hunting partner quite well, Marguerite realized. So well that had Finn not been so obviously in love with George Challenger, her relationship with Roxton might cause Marguerite concern. Any woman knew that letting her man go off alone frequently with an attractive blonde girl might not be the height of feminine wisdom!

Then, it struck her that it had been Finn who had told John to spank her that time, months ago, when she'd behaved so badly for a week. It had taken her several weeks to ferret this out, but when confronted, Finn had admitted that Roxton had come to her for advice, and that she had counseled putting the brunette in her place. At that point, Roxton had little left to lose.

Either Marguerite would be tamed, or it was probably over for that couple. And Marguerite knew that Finn had been trying to help and that she was overjoyed when the Roxtons had made up and declared their love. But she suspected that Finn might have searched harder for a different solution, had Marguerite not seriously insulted Challenger earlier that day! If anything would make Finn smolder, wanting revenge, it was someone mistreating her hero, mentor, and lover...

But the incident had made Marguerite aware of how close Roxton and Finn were. Maybe Finn could now be coaxed to ask Roxton what Marguerite had done. Or, if she truly wasn't the source of her man's anguish, what was? And how could his friends and his woman help with that?

Finn was also worried about her best male friend, and wanted to help. The women debated whether it might be better for Finn to get Challenger to talk to Roxton man-to-man, or for Finn to go to Roxton on her own.

"I know Johnny pretty well, and I bet that if George comes in and wants to talk, he'll know that we put him up to it. I think he'll respect us more if I just go to him on my own, and tell him that whatever this is, I want to get him through it."

Finn knew that Roxton would be half expecting her. They knew one another well. Maybe better than Finn wanted Marguerite to realize, lest she worry too much. In fact, although she was pretty impressed by Roxton as a man, Finn loved both him and Marguerite, and she wanted that couple together. After all, she had the Genius, who needed her almost as much as she needed him!

Finn knocked on the door frame before entering to assess Roxton's attitude.

"Who is it this time?" the hunter and war hero half growled.

"_La deusa brasileira do caza_," quipped Finn. "The Brazilian goddess of the hunt! The brash blonde chick who loves you as much as Marguerite does, if slightly differently. Look, Johnny, do you want tea? I know that's the cure-all for you Limey people. I can just leave a pot and a cup and let you solve whatever this is on your own, or you can tell Dr. Finn, girl shrink, what's really bothering you. Marguerite is scared to death that she's done something awful to anger you, and it's not right not to tell her. That's the kind of thing that she does to you. How mature and loving is that?"

Roxton looked up at her, half angered, and then understanding. "Sit down, Finnykins. I know that I should tell Marguerite. You're right: it isn't decent not to tell her what's wrong, especially so that she can understand that what's eating at me is truly not her doing. This time. For once."

He smiled, looking a little pale in the pastel shade of the dark room. "You know my secrets better than anyone, save for Marguerite. And the truth is, she is innocent, this time."

He sighed heavily. "Nicole, today is the anniversary of the day that I killed my brother." (Finn's full name was Nicole Elizabeth Finnegan, her nickname being derived from her familial name.)

The slim girl from the future leaned over and placed a hand on her troubled friend's arm. "Johnny, we've been over this before. You didn't kill your brother. You killed a gorilla that was mauling him. In a few more seconds, he would have been dead, regardless. Those things can pull an arm right off of a man, and from the wounds that you've described, he probably wouldn't have survived whether you fired or not. Certainly, shooting was all that you could do. How were you to know that the bullet would pass through the ape and kill him, too?"

Roxton shrugged, sadly. "Finn, you know a lot about guns now. I should have realized that a bullet from a .416 Rigby will shoot through several men. The thing is designed to kill elephants, Cape buffalo, rhino. Why would it NOT penetrate a gorilla and kill a man, too? Good Lord, here, I use it to kill even dinosaurs, and not always just those smaller raptors."

She squeezed his arm. "Well, the big Rigby was what you had in your hand, and you told me that your gunbearer ran away with the .318. But even it would probably have gone through and into William. And your Webleys might not have had enough power to kill a gorilla in time. Johnny_, amigo_, what more was in your hands to do? William at least died quickly, ending the awful pain that he must have been in. The injuries that you described were life threatening, and the nearest doctor was over a hundred miles away! Taping him together and putting honey on the wounds, even if you'd had enough honey, wouldn't have worked. He was probably doomed, whatever you did. At least, he didn't suffer longer than necessary. What you did, however unintentional, was an act of mercy. He would have been in indescribable pain!"

"Finn, logically, I know these things. But the end result is that I slew my own brother. It hasn't helped that doing so left me in line for the family title; I became the next Earl of Avebury when Father died. People wondered if I killed William for the title and the fortune. Even our father accused me of that. It was the worst feeling in the world, short of how I already felt about killing him. Pierson Rice's lurid accounts of the event hardly added to my peace of mind. I've told you about him. He richly deserved the fate that he got. At least, he confirmed my story that William's death was an accident."

Roxton's misery was plain on his face, and Finn held his hand with both of hers, looking into his anguished eyes.

"The inquiry absolved you of any wrongdoing. It was a simple accident! Johnny, dear friend, tell me the truth about something. You were awarded the Victoria Cross and the Distinguished Service Order, the two highest medals for gallantry that your King can bestow. No one doubts that you are a true war hero. Men and women alike admire you for that courage, and for what you achieved. But were you maybe taking those chances above and beyond the call of duty to expose yourself to the risk of being killed, so that you wouldn't suffer for killing William?" Finn looked soberly at Roxton, a tear running down her lovely face.

He smiled faintly, then reached over and wiped away the tear.  
>"Finn, you know me too well. But in time, I got over wanting to die. I was willing to live, if in misery much of the time. But something inside forgave me enough that I decided to live, if I could. I nearly didn't, several times. But my men needed me. I wanted to get every one of them that I could home alive. And I wanted to kill Germans, maybe to atone for having once killed the wrong man. And to end the war. It was a bloody stupid war, anyway. I've never quite worked out why millions had to die, for the vanity of our rulers and for some archduke getting shot in Sarajevo. What in blazes did that have to do with most Britons?"<p>

"Not much, I guess," Finn admitted. "Rulers have wars for their vanity most of the time, or to grab land that should belong to somebody else. Greed and pride, and thinking that they're gods… Look at what that bastard Zoth did to the world in my time!

"Look, Johnny, Marguerite needs you right now, and you need her. I'm your best friend, or if I'm not, my guy is. But right now, I think you need even more. That means your woman. Please let me tell her to come in. I'll bring you guys some tea. Don't look at me that way; a South American can make tea as well as you people. I've been practicing, to get it just right for the Genius. Anyway, I'll eventually become British, myself, after George and I marry. I need to know how to make tea and those little sandwiches to go with it. Let me help that way. Let Kruxlahoo help in her way. The main way that you need to get help right now! Even if we had a shrink's office just down the street, Marguerite is the best therapy that you can get. And she needs you, too. She's hurting for you, Johnny. Let her in. And begin to heal, as much as you can. Okay?" She squeezed his hand with hers, pleading with her eyes for him to do as she asked.

Roxton stood, pulling Finn gently up with him. He hugged her intensely, and she felt the dampness of his tears on her cheek as he kissed her. "Go get her, Finny. And, yes, we'd love tea. You're probably right about it being the opiate or psychic cure of our race. With that and Marguerite, I'll manage to shake this mood before too much longer."

She hugged back, fiercely. "I'll send her in, pal. Let her help." She rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and went out to get his mate.

Marguerite stood at the door, an anxious look on her face until Roxton beckoned to her. She walked over and offered her arms, and the couple embraced.

Soon, he had told her the cause of his anguish, and her heart went out to him.

"Oh, John: you absolutely must not beat yourself up over this. You admitted once that not only had the gorilla probably mortally wounded William before you fired, but that he had provoked the attack by making fun of the ape when he came on its family group. This was a father gorilla, I think?"

Roxton nodded, "Yes, a big 'silverback.' William had been drinking on the trail, and he was a bit of a bully, anyway. When he turned a corner in that jungle and saw the gorillas, he taunted them. I could hear him and ran forward, with my gunbearer, a black named Metheke. Sorry damned kaffir! He ran when I wanted my lighter rifle. Scared spitless by the fury of the gorilla, I'm sure, but a gunbearer who runs has committed a serious offense. I doubt that he ever worked for another white man again, certainly not on safari. Maybe he'd have been a good houseboy; who the devil knows?"

"Aren't you being pretty hard on him?" asked Marguerite. "A gorilla in a rage must be a frightful thing to see. Anyway, you had your other rifle. Either it or the Westley Richards .318 would have penetrated the ape and killed William. Are you sure that you aren't blaming Metheke partly because you're so angry about what happened?"

Roxton shook his head. "Marguerite, he wasn't cut out to be a gunbearer. The week before, he almost bolted before I could seize my .416 from him when an elephant charged. But I've since forgiven Metheke. I wouldn't ever recommend him to a white hunter, but Metheke is not the cause of my funk this morning. It's reliving the whole bloody experience. Sometimes, it gets to me, still, after all of these years. A decade now... Will I ever be able to put it in the past, and not feel so seared when I think of that day?"

"John, you have since proved that you are a brave man, during some of the nastiest battles in France and in Flanders. That atones in the public mind for much of the episode with William. Many people who know you are now aware of the real you. We don't think that you shot him to get money and title. Those of us close to you know the agony that you relive over that awful event. Please don't let it scar you for life!"

He stared at her. "Do you actually think that I can ever forget this, and what it's done to me?"

She shook her head quickly, the sable hair bouncing. "No, of course not, darling! I'm not saying that. But you must get it in perspective and begin to heal, as much as can be expected. I know that you'll never be over it. But let the grass grow, as that Yank poet said. It heals many wounds."

He cocked a cynical eye at her "What Yank poet? The only one whom I've read is that chap Longfellow. 'The Song of Hiawatha', I think it's called. That was about some Red Indian lad who lived on the shore of some lake with an unpronounceable name."

Marguerite sighed. "Yes, that sounds like something that you'd read. Or, Finny. In fact, I saw her reading that poem one day last month. She had to ask me how to pronounce some words in it. But the poet who said to let the grass grow and cover the wounds of the past was Walt Whitman. He actually wrote some rather cheeky material, but that bit was really good, and you should reflect on it. You have to manage to let the worst of the horror go, to embrace the remainder of your life. You're too fine a human being to stay haunted so badly by that death. You're already trying to deal with the war. At least, you're doing better with that, on the whole."

He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I lost some very good friends in that war, and I don't fancy waking up dreaming about trying to fire a gun that won't shoot, just as some big Hessian is coming at me with a bayonet. You know that dream. I woke you with it last week. Three times this year, in fact. Maybe I'm not the nicest bloke to share a bed with, eh?"

He looked forlorn, if a little amused, and Marguerite reached for his hand. "You'll do, better than any other man I've rumpled sheets with. I love you, John, and together, we are going to get you through this crisis."

Veronica tapped on the door, and she and Finn brought in tea and little honey cakes that "Vee" had baked as the men worked on the air conditioner. There was a carafe of cold water, also.

The blondes set the items on the table, and Roxton and his mate thanked them. "This was awfully sweet of you two," commented Marguerite.

Veronica grinned. "That's okay, Marguerite. I have some housework planned for you later. You'll need your strength. And as long as you're in here where John can watch you, I don't have to worry that you'll wander into the kitchen and do anything dangerous."

She blushed as she saw Roxton's reaction. "I'm sorry, John. I guess I was too flippant. I know that you two are dealing with some serious issues in here."

He smiled faintly back. "Well, the good news is, I think we may finally be dealing with them. Some."

Finn stepped over, love and sadness written clearly on her face. She placed a hand on Roxton's shoulder and squeezed lightly, then leaned down and kissed Marguerite. She pointed to the teapot and said. "Tea. Big medicine. Drink." Then she and Veronica were gone.

Marguerite was amused. "Tea? Big medicine? Drink? I told you that that girl has been reading, 'The Song of Hiawatha'. If one likes that sort of primitive adventure, it really is a rather nice poem. At least, Finny is being exposed to poetry in better form than those ribald limericks that you and Ned teach her. And she finished Sir Henry Rider Haggard's, 'King Solomon's Mines' recently. Not that it's poetry, of course."

Roxton nodded. "I know. She thanked me for recommending it."

Marguerite's eyebrows rose. "Thanked you how? With a kiss?"

Roxton reached over and fluffed his woman's hair, smiling. "Jealous, are we? No, she just thanked me, orally." He remembered the episode before they had set out for Xochilenque, where Finn had shown Veronica and her Zanga friend Assai how to practice a different oral art, demonstrating on a banana.

"I hasten to add that by 'orally', she just used her voice. Don't go getting any other ideas. You're probably better at that other oral art than she is, anyway."

"I should hope so, "Marguerite replied."Just don't go getting any comparison samples. I have an idea that Finny is probably quite skilled in bed. But if you want to know for sure, just ask George. No getting personal exposure or I'll give you some additional nightmares to deal with!"

He chuckled. "Why, madam, one would think that you care, and are even a bit possessive."

"I'm a lot possessive. It took me a lifetime to find a man whom I'd accept as mine, and no foreign blonde hussy is getting him away from me. But I'm an equal opportunity lover; I'd hate a brunette or redheaded hussy for that, too. Not that I really think that Finn is a hussy. But she is blonde, and she is an exhibitionist at times. She likes male attention. No, don't deny it. I've seen the ways that she seeks it. I think she needs it for self esteem, for one thing. But she is also a dear friend, probably the closest that I've had. I trust you with her. More or less...But let's get back to your issue with William and what the war did to your peace of mind."

And they returned to their original topic of discussion.

In the dining room, the others had gathered to share another pot of tea. Even Challenger had been coaxed up from the lab, Finn having told him that they needed his wisdom to help understand Roxton's being in a funk and how they might help.

Finn poured a cup for him as Veronica set a small pitcher of milk where they could all reach it. To avoid having to speak too loudly, the Malones sat by the Challengers. At meals, they were normally at opposite ends of the table, the Roxtons in between.

Veronica passed around a platter of honey cakes, giving Ned first choice. She was proud of her skill in baking these, which were always popular with her guests and friends. They were basically cornmeal, with honey added to the batter.

"So, how is Roxton doing? Is this about his brother again, or is it the war? I've had some bad dreams about the latter, myself." Ned looked somber.

"Yeah, like two nights ago," agreed Veronica. "You scared me when you started screaming in your sleep. I thought at first that a jaguar had broken in, or a really big lizard. It took me a couple of minutes to realize that you were having a nightmare and wake you up."

"I expect that we have all got our nightmares, and devils that dog us even when we're awake," admitted George Challenger. "For me, it's largely how to deal with Jessie when we reach Britain. I also agonize about the times when I should have spent more time with her than in researching whatever project intrigued me at the moment. I shall not make that mistake with Finn, who gets my mind more on her, anyway. Ours is a blessed union, more than I had dreamed that I might ever know. And I have nightmares from that anaconda that almost killed me. (This was in a fic no longer on the Net.) Who else has some powerful issues?"

Finn looked down, blushing. "I don't want to say anything right now, Genius, but you, of all people, know the depths of my horrors. With you, I'm overcoming them, but I still have a way to go. You can imagine what it was like for me, growing up as I did. George, you're the first man I've really loved, who loved me, instead of just wanting to get my panties off. And you guys know all too well how I used to wonder where my next meal was coming from. That's all that I want to say right now. This stuff is still too close to tell anyone but George, and he has to coax the worst of it out of me. But I tell him, and it's helping me to heal."

She took his hand, and the Challengers looked fondly at one another.

Ned went next, admitting that he often woke in a cold sweat, mainly from memories of the war. He had often been in the front lines as a reporter, and what he had seen, the shells that had nearly killed him, had left their effect.

Veronica held his hand and patted his shoulder when he reached the hard parts.

She spoke next. Some of the things that had happened to them all and to her particularly had left their mark.

"But the worst thing is not knowing what happened to my parents. I know now that my dad is dead, but Mom? I miss her so very much and I feel so frustrated that I can't find her and bring her safely home!" She broke up at that point, burying her head in Ned's shoulder, weeping unashamed.

Challenger glanced at Finn, who rose and went to her friend. She stroked her hair, whispering soft encouragement until Veronica regained her composure, although she still clung to Ned's arm.

Finn returned to her chair, adjusting a strap on her sandal.

"You know what, Genius?" she asked. "We all have bad dreams, some things that we stress about when we're awake, too. But the good news is that we also now have each other. We're the best therapy that we're ever likely to see. I know that I'd rather tell my woes to you than to some egotistic, condescending shrink doc in an antiseptic office, anyway. And I'd be a little leery of the couches that those guys have. If some man is going to see me on a couch, I want him to be you."

She grinned, her radiant smile that lit her whole being, and leaned over and kissed Challenger, who held her hand and chuckled.

Veronica wiped her eyes with one hand, holding onto Ned with the other. "Finny, you're right. We all have each other, with our lovers being the icing on the cake. Neddy, you've turned out to be pretty good cake icing." She kissed Malone, who hugged her and said that she was the sweetest icing that a man ever tasted.

They heard the Roxtons enter, but they barely glanced at the others as they went up the stairs, hand-in-hand.

In a few minutes they were back, with their usual guns and their hats on.

"We're going to make a picnic lunch. You lot carry on," announced Marguerite as the couple went to the kitchen.

They were back in half an hour, canteens filled, a wicker basket with food in hand.

"Ta," said Marguerite. "We need some time alone in the woods. We're making really good progress, but we just need to get away and talk a little more. I'll do the housework when we get back, Veronica. This is more important right now."

Veronica nodded, stood, and embraced her British friend. "Take care, you two. We want you both back in one piece."

"That's how I plan to return," announced Roxton. "In one piece. Right now, I'm still a little splintered. But Marguerite is gluing my psyche back together. I don't know what I'd do without her at times like this."

"Well, take care," said Challenger, and he and Finn walked the Roxtons to the elevator. He offered Roxton his right hand, which the nobleman shook before he boarded the lift.

Back at the table, Veronica announced that it was time for lunch.

"Give me a hand in the kitchen, Finny," she said. "Ned, you and George go dust the living room. I'll save the rest for Marguerite.  
>John may help her. I think he'll want to be near her all day."<p>

Ned nodded and said, "I think he's going to want to be near her for the rest of his life. Those two are lucky to have found each other and gotten over their differences."

"We all are lucky to have found one another, " said Challenger."Veronica, thank you for letting us live here. We must remember to never take you for granted. Whatever our fears and our troubled memories, it is in this house that we have begun to heal, with each other."

"Thanks, George," said Miss Layton. "But lighten up. I don't want to think of home as a psychiatric ward."

"Right now, I'm thinking of it as a restaurant, Vee. Let's go make lunch." Finn smiled and headed for the kitchen.

And they all felt better after eating, including the two who sat by a jungle trail with their picnic basket.

The End


End file.
